Death Maze
by BitShifter
Summary: Steed goes to the dogs. Rita finds her way. (Second in the series).
1. Chapter 1

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 **"Death Maze"**

An Avengers Fanfiction

 _The second of a series of adventures bridging the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964) and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)_

 **Disclaimer:** Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

 **June 1964**

 _Steed goes to the dogs. Rita finds her way._

John Steed was seated at the bar with a mug of lager in front of him. One-Ten entered the pub through the front door and took up a seat next to him. He didn't glance sideways as he ordered a stout. Steed pretended to watch the game of darts that had developed on the other side of the room.

"I take it you aren't happy with the Wootton Bassett mission," Steed opened.

"You left so many loose ends it's hard to even call it a mission," One-Ten laid into him. "We don't know who the Bookhounds were getting the locations from, nor who they were transmitting them to. All you did was disrupt the conduit."

"Still, I'm sure all the men are grateful for the few weeks of safety they'll enjoy," Steed retorted.

"Bah!" One-Ten scoffed, barely managing to keep his head turned away. "The enemy will just find another way to communicate the locations. Instead of being driven to ground, they'll be laying low now. You and Miss Fox have botched this thing royally."

"I'll tell Miss Fox that you wish her well with her recovery," Steed said cheerily.

"That's what we get for sending a civil servant to do an agent's job. You should have listened to me and taken a professional."

Steed ignored the barb. "So Penbrough and the other enemies we took at Wootton Bassett couldn't give us any leads?"

"No. They weren't lying when they said they didn't know the man they were working for, at least according to our wringer. They got the secret locations by phone and were paid in cash. What's your plan now, Steed?"

"Start checking libraries." Steed took a careful swallow of the lager in front of him. "Find out if anyone has looked into _The Field Guide to Pictish Symbol Stones_. That was the latest entry on The Bookhounds' reading list."

"Do you realize how many libraries there are in England?"

"Only historical libraries would carry an obscure title like this. That narrows it down a bit."

"That's still a hundred or more. They're not likely to give you information on who was interested in a particular book over the phone," One-Ten scowled.

"Exactly. Miss Fox and I shall have to check each branch in person."

Once again, One-Ten had to fight the urge to turn and face Steed. "Miss Fox? You intend to keep using her? Quite frankly, we were disappointed with her performance. Thought you'd want to dump her as quickly as possible. Don't tell me you're thinking of having her as a regular partner?"

"No," Steed confessed. "But if there's anyone who can talk to a librarian, it's Miss Fox."

-oOo-

Rita Fox entered the office of Charles, the Head of Operations. He was in the process of removing his trench coat and hanging it on oaken coat tree. His black jacket and bow tie made him look as if he had just come from a night at the opera. Rita had to admit he appeared quite spiffy, in spite of being three or four stone overweight.

"You asked to see me?" she ventured humbly. Rita looked very conservative in her brown leather calf boots, red plaid flannel skirt, white blouse with a delicate ribbon at the neck, and of course, her luxuriant red hair, swirled up and held in place by two cloisonne clips.

"Ah, Miss Fox," he began. "First, let me apologize for the Ministry's miscue in assigning you to the Blackpoole murder. When we found the nineteenth-century book in Blackpoole's possession, we were certain that Mr. Steed would need your services to complete the investigation. As it turned out, the secret behind the Bookhounds was merely a simple cipher, not something requiring the skills of a literary expert such as yourself."

"I _was_ the one who detected how the books were used in the scheme," Rita said defensively.

"Oh, of course dear! I read Steed's report." Charles gestured apologetically. "I didn't mean to diminish your contribution. I'm just sorry you had to get exposed to mortal danger in Steed's ill-advised handling of the situation."

"That's not a fair assessment," she said defiantly. "Steed risked his life repeatedly. You should have seen him. He was..." Rita's voice trailed off.

Charles seemed genuinely amused. "He was what, my dear?"

"He was magnificent," Rita finished meekly.

"Ah, I see." The rotund Head of Operations gave a broad smile. "Mr. Steed has been known to have a certain effect on women. I'm not surprised that you're in his thrall."

"I am _not_ in his thrall," Rita objected tersely. "When I first went to see him, he wanted nothing to do with me. He got me drunk and dumped me back in my apartment. Later, he manipulated and used me."

"The lady doth protest too much," Charles grinned.

"However, Steed is a gentleman," she finished, "and he put his life on the line for your principles. For _our_ principles."

Charles nodded patronizingly. "Of course, my dear. In any event, you needn't endanger yourself in the field anymore," he continued. "I'm looking at other avenues for us to utilize your particular research skills outside of the Ministry."

Rita turned pale. "You're going to cashier me?"

"Oh no, my dear. Merely look for a more optimal placement, one that doesn't involve the direct dangers of being exposed to the enemy. Surely, that should please you." There seemed to be hidden meaning behind Charles' words.

Rita's instincts told her it would best to retreat for the time being. "Whatever you think would be best, sir," she acquiesced.

"Ah, that's more like it. I'll let you know when I've come up with something."

-oOo-

Rita was frantic when she arrived at Steed's apartment.

"Steed, they're going to put me out to pasture! All because of this Bookhounds affair. My career, over—at only twenty-eight!"

"Good afternoon, Miss Fox," Steed greeted her. "Come inside for a drink."

Rita was so upset she forgot to insist that she never drank alcohol. Steed strolled over to the bar and decanted a mysterious fluid into a glass. She seated herself on the couch, allowing her wounded right thigh to dangle over the side. When Steed handed her the glass, she downed it in a single gulp. It was heavy and red, and had an immediate effect.

"What was that?" she asked, carefully annunciating her words.

"Oloroso sherry. Not as strong as heavy port, but getting there." Steed smiled. Rita straightened her flannel skirt and checked the adjustment of the cloisonne clips that held her ample red hair in check.

"Thank you, Steed." Rita began again, more calmly this time. "They weren't happy with my work on the Wiltshire mission. I need to do something to salvage the situation."

"I've spoken to One-Ten," Steed responded. "I've already informed him that I'll need your services for another week."

"But the Head of Operations said—"

Steed waved his hand dismissively. "Charles is a bit of a blowhard. You mustn't take what he says too seriously. I've chosen _you_ to help me complete this investigation, and complete it we will." He handed Rita a second glass of sherry. She sipped it more slowly.

"I've had Thornton look into what libraries are likely to have a copy of _The Field Guide to Pictish Symbol Stones_ ," Steed began.

"He's your man at the Ministry who helped us discover the link between the books and secret locations, isn't he?"

"That's right; he works in Cleanup. Thornton's come up with a list of one hundred and thirty seven libraries," Steed continued. "I've split it into two, geographically. You'll work your way from Bristol up through Birmingham, and I'll take the route through Norwich and Leeds. We'll meet up in Manchester, if neither of us discovers something first."

"You mean I'll be working alone?"

"Yes, undercover. Visit each library and see if anyone's checked out or asked about the book recently. You'll have to use charm, deception, trickery—whatever it takes to get the information."

"Now we've gone into your area of expertise," Rita said slyly.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Steed smirked. "If you find any connection with the Bookhounds, don't try to do anything on your own. Contact the Ministry, and they'll inform me when I check in. Then you just wait for me to arrive."

"And if _you_ find something first? Will you send for me?"

Steed hesitated before answering. "If I encounter a situation that requires your unique skills, I'll certainly send for you," he said carefully.

Rita frowned. "So you're saying I shouldn't hold my breath. How do I get in contact with the Ministry?"

"Just use any public call box and ask for Mount Olympus. We have a system to patch through to Whitehall."

"And it works from anywhere?"

"It's called MYTHOS—Ministry Telephonic Help Operator System, or something like that. Speak carefully, since they'll be checking your voiceprint. Your code name will be 'Alopex'."

Rita smiled. "That's Greek for 'fox'."

"I've been accused of having a sense of humor. If you need to talk to the Head Of Operations, ask for Zeus."

"What's your code name?"

Steed grinned broadly, and sipped some of the sherry himself. "Bacchus, of course."

-oOo-


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The historical library at Wells-next-the-Sea was little more than a thatched cottage. A scattering of livestock and poultry ran for cover as Steed pulled the Bentley around back. This would be the twelfth library he checked today. Many of them actually had the book he sought, but none of the copies appeared to have been touched in the last decade.

The interior of the building was so cramped that the wooden door opened almost directly into the librarian's desk. A nameplate told him that the librarian at the desk was Mabel Pilkington. She was a plumpish spinster in her mid-fifties dressed in a long wool skirt and sweater. As she looked at Steed, a glint of recognition appeared in her eye.

"Why, it's you, Johnny!" she cried.

"Eh?" Steed looked confused.

"Johnny The Horse! It's me, Mabel!"

"Ah, of course." Steed tried to remain unspecific. One of the side-hazards of undercover work was being recognized as someone that you pretended to be for only a week or two.

"Are you still in the game, love?" she asked with a wink.

Steed smiled. He remembered. She was referring to his imaginary life in organized crime.

"I've decided to go the straight and narrow," he answered, removing his bowler and holding it humbly across his chest.

"You'll have to prove it to me, Johnny."

"I'm looking for a book," Steed said. "Harrowden's _Field Guide to Pictish Symbol Stones_."

"We don't have it," Mabel smiled. She didn't move.

"Shouldn't you check your catalog or bookcases?"

"Don't need to," Mabel said matter-of-factly. "I loaned it out three days ago. You remember a queer book like that."

"Do you know the name of the man who came for it?" Steed asked casually, tracing a pattern on the edge of the desk with his finger. He feigned lack of interest, even though Mabel would see through it, and he knew that she would. It was all part of the game.

Mabel leaned back in the wooden chair, which creaked under the strain of her weight. She pulled her sweater open and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing a creamy swell of cleavage.

"What's in it for me, love?" she asked slyly.

Steed knew what she wanted. He effortlessly produced a ten-pound note from a jacket pocket, where it was stored just for this purpose.

"Straight and narrow, eh, Johnny?" Mabel plucked the bill from his hand and tucked it into her ample bosom.

"'T'weren't no man," Mabel grinned. "'T'was a courier boy. Loaned it to another library, special request."

"Somewhere here in Norfolk?"

"You'll have to live up to your name if you want to catch 'im, Horsey. 'T'is on the other side of the country by now. A library in Somerset."

Steed flipped open Thornton's list and checked. There were only two historical libraries in Somerset.

"Wouldn't want to be the man with that book if you're coming after him, Johnny," Mabel remarked wickedly.

-oOo-

Steed had pulled up to a random public call box in Norfolk. He went through the protocol of connecting to Whitehall, and was soon talking to the dispatcher, Hermes.

"This is Bacchus. Any contact from Alopex?" Steed asked.

"Please hold for Zeus," Hermes commanded flatly.

There was a click as he was routed to the office of the Head of Operations.

"I've talked to One-Ten," Charles began. "He said you're working with Miss Fox."

"Yes, she's helping me out with the legwork," Steed answered. "We're checking historical libraries."

"Is she with you now?"

"No, we split up. Why do you ask?"

"Penbrough's been sprung."

Steed frowned. Penbrough was the self-proclaimed head of the secrets-passing Bassett Bookhounds. He was a nasty piece of work.

"Someone helped him escape?" Steed asked.

"Yes."

"Someone in Whitehall?"

"Yes."

"But why? He didn't know anything. Why wouldn't they just kill him?" Steed mused. "What good is he to the enemy alive?"

"I don't know. Perhaps they need him for something. Perhaps he's found a way to resist the efforts of our wringer," Charles offered.

"Hard to believe that he could escape from the Ministry, even with inside help."

"Of course," Charles answered reasonably. "That's why when I learned of the attempt, I let him escape."

"You _let him escape_?"

"You and Miss Fox were getting nowhere fast on this whole Blackpoole case," the Head of Operations admonished. "I figured you could get better results with Penbrough in the wild, and we may just turn up something with our internal investigation into his escape. Perhaps we can shut down the leak at our end."

"But with Penbrough on the loose, he could start passing secrets again," Steed fired back accusingly. "You've endangered the lives of men and women at every secret installation in the country."

"That's why you and Miss Fox need to show some competence, for a change," Charles answered curtly. "Get Penbrough and his contacts, and wrap up this Bookhounds investigation once and for all. Perhaps One-Ten will reward you with a real partner."

The line clicked dead.

-oOo-

Rita was fighting a losing battle against a folding map of Southwest England that refused to fit in the Mini's glove compartment. It spilled out on the seat next to her, occasionally getting in the way when she needed to shift. Still, she had to glance at it frequently to check the road signs on the M5 against locations on the map. She had already completed her survey of the libraries around Bristol, and now she was taking a brief detour into Somerset to check out a single library near Weston-super-Mare.

The engine of her red '62 Austin Mini roared as she downshifted and exited the highway. Within minutes she was heading down a poorly maintained road that supposedly led to an address on Thornton's list. The smell of salt air was overpowering, and in the distance she could hear the breakers out in the Bristol Channel. Any library out here was bound to have a significant dampness problem. She pulled off the road into a gravel parking lot.

Rita looked at Thornton's list and snorted. Then she looked up at the structure in front of her. The infallible answer man from Cleanup must have made a mistake this time. The address matched, but she wasn't looking at a library.

Instead, towering over her some 50 feet high, there was a sturdy brick lighthouse. Some curtains were drawn in the lamp gallery, so she couldn't tell if it was still operational; but certainly the grounds were well-kept. A small utility shed off to one side could have easily held a coal- or diesel-powered electric generator. Beside the shed was a public phone box.

Then her eyes focused on a sign near the front pathway. It read simply "Historical Library."

Rita arched her eyebrows. She shouldn't have doubted Thornton. Not only was it a historical library, but it appeared to be a library with a history.

When she entered through the single metal door, she found herself in a circular area some twenty feet in diameter. The interior walls of the lighthouse were lined around the perimeter with massive bookcases, set on galleries every ten feet or so in height, in a breathtaking ascent reaching up to the lamp gallery. A single metal spiral staircase wound dizzyingly up the center, with a landing at every one of the galleries.

There was a desk immediately opposite the door by which she had entered. Rita walked over to it and addressed the aging man who sat there.

"I'm interested in an old book, Dr. Harrowden's _Field Guide to Pictish Symbol Stones_. Is it possible that you have a copy?"

The librarian smiled. "Oddly enough, someone was interested in that title earlier this week, so I'm sure we have it. Let me check with my assistant." He started trudging up the lighthouse stair, past the levels of bookcases lining the walls, toward the lamp gallery.

Rita was already congratulating herself on finding the first solid lead in her search. As soon as she managed to find out who was interested in the book, she could call Steed. Even if she couldn't weasel that information out of the old librarian, she felt certain Steed could. She was only a phone call away from the end game of this entire Bookhounds affair. Rita started humming to herself happily, and her eyes wandered about the librarian's desk—to the stapler, an inked stamper, and a well-worn notepad.

Her blood froze in her veins, and she felt her entire body go numb with fear.

There was a number doodled on the notepad. The number was 5013357762.

It was the number that was the remainder count of words on the first ten pages of _The Field Guide to Pictish Symbol Stones_. It was the number that revealed the location of the secret missile guidance lab in Swansea. It was the number whose mere discovery had nearly led to her death in Wootton Bassett. And now, here it was, scribbled on a notepad in a lighthouse library. Full realization dawned on her.

This quaint lighthouse was an enemy stronghold no less dangerous than the historical library outside of Wootton Bassett. Every person here could be an armed killer. It was already possible that her physical description had been sent ahead by the leak at the Ministry. She silently cursed her distinctive red hair.

Then she realized how stupid she had just been; they didn't need any description to know who she was. She had just asked about _The Field Guide to Pictish Symbol Stones_. That action alone was the equivalent of painting a bulls-eye right on her back. Only an agent from the Ministry would know the significance of that particular book. Her first impulse was flight.

Rita turned and scurried from the library. The librarian and two other men were already rapidly descending the lighthouse stair as she exited through the front door. Grimly, she hoped that both her Mini and her driving skills would be up to the task of a dangerous car chase.

She stared blankly at the gravel lot. The Mini was gone. It was not where she had left it. Her car was gone.

Full-fledged panic started to have free rein in Rita's breast. Then she remembered the public phone box on the other side of the shed. She broke into a frenzied run for it, threw her body inside, and slammed the door. She tried to regain her breath as she picked up the receiver.

"Mount Olympus," Rita said urgently. She could feel her heart beating in her throat. There was a five second delay as a trunk line was accessed.

"This is Hermes," responded the impassive voice at the other end.

"I need Zeus."

"Who's calling?"

"Alopex," she answered breathlessly. She glanced out the windows and saw some indistinct men in coveralls running towards the phone box. They would be on top of her within seconds.

There was an electrical hum and click as she was transferred through the communication layer to Charles' office. She didn't wait for him to greet her.

"Help! I'm in Somerset! Send Steed!"

"Miss Fox?" the confused Head of Operations asked from the other end. "Where in Somerset?"

There was a crash of breaking glass, and Rita felt a sharp sting on the left side of her neck. She was sure that a razor-sharp fragment must have cut her, but when she reached up, instead of warm blood, she felt warm flesh—not hers. She started to weaken as she feebly clutched at the hand by her neck, and she realized that it held a needle. Everything was going to be all right. She had been injected with something, and it was making her feel good all over. Rita turned to thank the owner of the hand.

Through a thick haze, she recognized black hair and an evil-looking Van Dyke beard. She'd seen him before. He was that Druid-lover who had claimed to be in charge of the Bookhounds. It must be a dream—he was at Whitehall for questioning; he couldn't possibly be here. What was his name?

As she collapsed to the ground and lost consciousness, the name came to her. It was Penbrough.

-oOo-


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Rita had no idea how much time had passed, but it must have been several hours. When she awoke, she found herself in the lamp gallery of the lighthouse. Her hands and feet were tied to a support pole opposite the stairwell. The curtains had been pulled aside to reveal a spectacular scenic view of the Bristol Channel. Evening was starting to fall, and the last rays of the sun painted the sky a lovely shade of pink. The euphoria that accompanied the drug had worn off, and now she felt irritable for the handling she had received. She looked up and saw Penbrough standing opposite her.

"I expected Mr. Steed to be with you," Penbrough began.

"You just wait. Steed knows exactly where I am," she lied. "He'll probably be here within the hour."

"I certainly hope so. I have a score to settle with him."

"And when he does arrive," Rita continued, "he won't be as kind to you as he was last time. I'll see to that."

Penbrough smiled without warmth. "I knew that his secretary would make the perfect bait."

"I'm not his secretary!" Rita fired back angrily. "I'm his... literature research assistant."

"A librarian?" Penbrough seemed amused. "That explains why we keep meeting in libraries. Still, I think Mr. Steed will come to your aid in any event. You two are obviously lovers."

Rita was taken aback for a second. "What makes you say that?"

"The way you whisper to each other, the way you touch," Penbrough sneered. "Yes, he won't risk losing his paramour."

"You couldn't be more wrong," Rita countered defiantly. "Steed's a gentleman—unlike you!"

"Everyone is unlike me," Penbrough boasted. "That is why Mr. Steed will bungle into my trap. And then I will have both of you where I want you." He stroked his beard, and a diabolic expression crossed his face.

Rita seethed with anger. The snakebite wound in her thigh throbbed, and she longed to ram her knee into Penbrough's groin. But she knew she had to stay alive until Steed arrived. Then Penbrough would be taken care of.

"You won't be able to capture Steed," declared Rita. "He won't just rush into any trap."

Penbrough smiled evilly. He reached up and caressed a lock of Rita's hair as she struggled against her bonds.

"He will if we wave a red flag."

-oOo-

The Bentley roared off the M5 as Steed checked the map on the seat next to him. Within a few minutes, he was traveling down a pock-marked road. He pulled the car off to one side about a quarter of a mile away from his destination. Steed then proceeded on foot to higher ground, where he used a pair of field glasses to survey the lighthouse.

He felt certain that Miss Fox would have visited this library after checking the ones between London and Bristol. Her Mini was nowhere to be seen, but it could have been concealed in the utility shed. There didn't appear to be any activity on the library grounds.

Steed squinted through the lenses. The glass enclosure of the lamp gallery was well lit. Inside, he could see a familiar cascade of red hair. It did not appear to be moving.

Just as he had suspected, Miss Fox must have stumbled right into the enemy's lair and unknowingly given herself away when she asked about the book. Now the enemy seemed to be playing a game, using her as bait to lure him into a trap. Penbrough could even be here; sufficient time had elapsed since the escape. Even if Penbrough hadn't known about the enemy stronghold here, his leak at the Ministry could have told him.

Steed returned to the Bentley and fetched a couple of smoke grenades from a box under the rear seat. They were completely harmless, but might allow him to make an entrance to the lighthouse undetected, if the winds remained calm.

The grounds around the lighthouse were cleared of growth for at least twenty yards in every direction, so he had no hope of making a surprise approach. Instead, he would wait until he got to the front door to unleash the smoke, then he would run around to the back of the lighthouse and take the service ladder up to the gallery. The lighthouse was brick, so it was possible they wouldn't hear his feet on the metal rungs from inside the building.

As he watched, he saw the red hair in the lamp gallery move. At least Miss Fox was still alive.

-oOo-

Rita watched the last rays of the sun vanish in the western sky. She looked bleakly around the empty lamp gallery. In spite of her bold proclamations, she had little hope that Steed would arrive before tomorrow; he was probably still somewhere on the east coast, just now checking in with Operations and learning of her fate. She wasn't sure that the psychotic Penbrough would keep her alive for another day.

There was a loud metallic banging on the front door of the lighthouse. Her heart leaped as she heard shouting and confusion, and then she saw some wisps of smoke curl up the stairs into the gallery. If Steed had arrived, he would need an army to make it up the stairs and rescue her.

A six foot high glass window shattered in the gallery, and Rita sighed with relief to see a familiar umbrella handle clearing away the shards from around the pane. Steed stepped inside, immaculately dressed in bowler and jacket.

"Anyone home?" he jovially called to Rita.

"Steed!"

"Miss Fox," he greeted her courteously. He quickly undid the ropes that tied her to the pole. Rita couldn't resist throwing her arms around his neck in a quick embrace.

"How do we get down?" she asked.

"We have to shinny down the drainpipe, so to speak," Steed answered cockily. "There's a service ladder leading down from the gallery. They'll probably be waiting at the bottom, so we may need to do a little hand-to-hand. The Bentley's parked a quarter of a mile south of here. Don't wait for me; just head for it, and if you get there first, hightail it back to London. Remember the switches under the seat."

Rita nodded her assent, although she had no intention of driving off without Steed. The switches he referred to were a series of four toggles under the front seat that, when thrown in the correct order, would start the car. Steed had shown them to her on one of their trips to Wootton Bassett.

Steed stepped back through the broken pane, and then rapidly descended the rusted metal ladder. Rita followed quickly, glad that her brown leather calf boots gave her sure footing on the damp rungs.

Less than ten feet away from the ground, the smoke became intense. Rita held her breath, and she could barely make out Steed as he hit the ground. There was a brief sound of scuffling as she stepped onto the soft earth, and a man dressed in coveralls landed less than a foot away from her, unconscious. She knew Steed must have been responsible.

Rita turned towards the south and started to run. When she was ten yards away from the lighthouse, she took a deep, gasping breath to fill her lungs with clean air as she sprinted for the tree line. When the smoke cleared, she saw Steed running next to her. She fell in behind him as they reached the trees.

They carefully picked their way along a rutted path through the woods while still maintaining good speed. Rita felt a surge of relief when she spotted the familiar British racing green of the Bentley among the foliage. She mounted the passenger side and sat motionless for a second, hands on knees, while she caught her breath.

Steed hopped into the driver side and reached down to start the car, using the switches beneath the front seat. Rita turned to fetch her favorite blanket from the rear seat.

She jumped with surprise as she saw the blanket rise up from the seat, apparently of its own volition. It fell away to reveal Penbrough and a man in coveralls. A wicked swing with a leather sap caught Steed on the back of the head, and he slumped forward onto the steering wheel. Rita turned to flee, but a familiar needle sting on her neck stopped her in mid-motion.

Things became much better then. She decided to settle down for a nap with Steed. He was a nice man, even if he did tempt her to liquor too often.

-oOo-


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When Steed regained consciousness, all he could see was a color.

Light filtered through a thin layer covering his eyes. After a second he identified the color; it was a red. Memory flooded back as he realized it was Rita's hair, spilled over his face. He reached up and brushed it aside, and quickly took the pulse on the body next to him. She was alive.

He stood up to survey the surroundings. The walls around them were made of a thick hedge nearly eight feet in height. There was a single opening in the shrubbery opposite their location.

Steed returned to Rita's body and lightly slapped her cheeks.

"Miss Fox? Rise and shine."

Rita awoke with a violent start and rudely swatted away Steed's hands. Then her eyes focused on his face.

"Steed," she sighed with relief.

Rita sat up and her reddish locks tumbled over her face. She reached up to pull them back. "My clips are gone," she said with irritation.

"Brolly and bowler as well," replied Steed. "Someone obviously wanted us to be weaponless here."

"Where is here?" Rita asked, looking around wide-eyed.

"It appears to be a very tall garden maze."

"Labyrinth, " Rita corrected.

"Eh?"

"The pattern is usually referred to as a maze. The structure itself is a labyrinth."

"Yes. Well, we're nowhere near Somerset," said Steed. "Or London, for that matter."

"What do you mean?" Rita stood up and gingerly put weight on her still-healing right thigh.

"They've probably transported us hundreds of miles away, so that the search for us will delay our successors," Steed explained. He sniffed at the air. "We're in Northern Scotland, I think. Maybe near Banff."

" _Successors_? You mean we're to be killed?"

"That would be Penbrough's first impulse, yes. His second impulse as well."

"Why put us in here? Why not just shoot us?"

"He'll want our deaths to look unexplained, as if we had followed a lead here from Somerset and then met with misadventure. This entire maze is probably some sort of death trap."

"Labyrinth," she corrected. "Seems like a lot of work just for us."

"Penbrough's a sadist," Steed offered. "Probably watching the whole spectacle through field glasses from some higher ground."

Rita shuddered. "I don't know why he has such hatred of us."

"Well, we did dismantle his source of income. I knocked him out, and you tried to push a bookcase on him. Perhaps he took it personal."

"He's a trumped-up little tin Hitler," Rita remarked sullenly. "He wasn't even the brains behind the Bookhounds operation. Somehow, he thinks he's superior to us."

"He _is_ the one on the outside, and we're in here," Steed grinned.

"Er, yes." Rita reddened. "We'll just have to find our way out of here and fix that."

Steed carefully peered around the corner of the the hedge. He saw more passages made of hedge. Nothing else was in sight.

Rita still felt woozy from the drug, so she sat down again and reclined back on her elbows. "I meant to ask you in Wiltshire," she began conversationally. "Why don't you ever carry a weapon?"

"I like to improvise. Besides, the first thing the enemy does when they capture you is take it away. Not carrying one is a real time-saver."

Rita arched her eyebrows doubtfully at this reasoning. "So you're always getting captured?"

"It does serve as a guarantee that one is on the right track."

"In that case, we must have been red-hot in Somerset," said Rita.

"There is one weapon we can make with what we have on hand," Steed continued. "A rope."

"What kind of a weapon is a rope?"

"It can be used to strangle or trip, or to interfere with an enemy's fighting motion to gain an advantage," Steed answered matter-of-factly. He removed his shirt and started tearing the white cotton into thin strips. The stitching was such that the sleeves wouldn't tear lengthwise, so he simply left each sleeve as a single piece.

"I'll weave the sleeves into the working end," he explained.

"I know you won't have any trouble tearing this into strips," Rita said casually. She stood up and started to remove her skirt.

"Miss Fox!" Steed feigned a shocked expression.

Rita handed her skirt to him with a knowing smirk. She still wore a gold satin half-slip, and beneath that, known only to her, _very_ sensible underwear.

"I see you're prepared this time, Miss Fox."

"I shall have to start bringing an extra skirt when I work with you."

"Have you ever considered a leather pantsuit?" Steed teased.

"In the middle of summer? Could you imagine me dressed head to toe in leather? I should think that would be incredibly hot."

A smile tugged at the corners of Steed's mouth. "I would imagine."

Steed skillfully incorporated the donated fabric into his efforts. Soon he had a four-foot length of woven rope, which he slip-knotted into a noose, with the sleeve-reinforced sections within the loop. He spun it around briefly, like a Western lariat. "That should do the trick," he nodded with satisfaction.

"What do we do to get out of here?" Rita asked.

"Eight feet's too tall for either of us, but not too tall for both of us," Steed remarked. "Take off your boots and stand on my shoulders."

"My thigh's really not too stable," she said with uncertainty.

"Nothing for it," Steed replied. "If you fall, try to land on your hip and roll."

Steed knelt down, and Rita put one of her bare feet on his bare shoulder. She braced herself with a hand on the top of his head as he stood up to full extension. She then straightened herself into a standing position.

"You have remarkable balance," Rita complimented him.

"I was briefly undercover as a circus acrobat," Steed explained jauntily. "The punishment for dropping another acrobat is to be shot out of the cannon. How are you doing?"

Rita extended both her arms horizontally for extra balance, and started to look around. "I can see!" she said excitedly.

"What can you see?" Steed asked.

"There's a large manor house to my right. I can see lights in the windows. You're probably right about Penbrough watching," Rita mused.

"We must look like an oversize gopher popping out of its hole," Steed said, looking up at her. He quickly redirected his eyes when he realized that his line of sight went up her slip.

"There's a man in this labyrinth," Rita said evenly, trying to remain calm. "He's working his way towards us. He's about four walls away. He'll be on us in about a dozen turns."

"Is he running?" Steed asked.

"No, he's moving slowly," answered Rita. "He has something in his hand. It may be a gun. Bring me down Steed, before he sees us."

Steed carefully knelt and allowed Rita to dismount his shoulders.

Just then, an eerie howl pierced the twilight. It smoothly rode down to a rumbling growl, and was joined by a second baying, and then a third.

"My God, what's that sound?" Rita's face was pale.

"They've let slip the dogs of war," answered Steed. "Mastiffs, by the sound of them. It'll take them a minute or two to get our scent and navigate the maze."

"Labyrinth. What do we do?"

Steed motioned to the brown leather calf boots in the grass. "Put your boots on over your hands. They'll protect your forearms as well."

"What if the dogs attack my feet?"

"If you let them get that close to you, you're probably already done for," Steed answered calmly.

"But Steed, you don't have anything!" Rita was trying not to panic.

"I've got our only weapon," Steed grinned, swinging the slip-knotted rope.

Rita gave into her panic as the sound of the dogs grew nearer.

"Oh, Steed! How can we stop a pack of wild dogs?"

"Alpha behavior," Steed replied thoughtfully. "We need to assert our dominance so they'll hesitate to attack a second time. If we fight back aggressively, the dogs will retreat, at least for a while. Be rough with them. If you show fear or weakness, they'll take advantage."

Rita took a deep breath to calm herself, and looked over at Steed. Without his shirt he looked lean and muscular, and he had an aura of masculinity and strength about him that was usually hidden behind those flawless Cardin suits he wore. It was easy to imagine the rope as a dangerous weapon in his hands. She felt a surge of confidence that Steed's plan would work, and she limped over to join him. They stood shoulder to shoulder facing the single opening of the hedge-walled room.

The barking of the dogs grew nearer as Rita felt her heart stop beating. Then the pack burst into view: three vicious bull mastiffs; pit fighters, by the look of them. Two of them headed for Steed as the other leaped for her throat.

Rita threw up her right arm to fend off the attack. She could feel pricks against the skin of her forearm as the dog's teeth sank into the boot covering her arm. In an attempt to get free, she slung the heavy animal towards the dense shrubbery that formed the wall, but its powerfully-clamped jaws wouldn't let go of her arm. She executed a second revolution before she developed enough momentum to hurl the dog free. When it hit the ground, it landed on its hip; this must have hurt, because the dog retreated to a respectable distance. It continued to bark and snarl viciously, but didn't move any closer for the time being.

Rita turned with horror to look at Steed. He had managed to use the noose from the makeshift rope to temporarily incapacitate one of the dogs. The other one was firmly clamped onto his left calf, and blood poured from around its jaws—Steed's blood.

"No!" Rita cried out. She ran forward and brought her right booted arm down to knock the dog loose. It let go of Steed's calf and immediately sprang at her, and she barely had enough time to raise her left arm to fend it off. Its teeth snagged her sleeve, and she once again felt pinpricks as the canine fangs penetrated the leather and made contact with her arm. Purely by instinct, she spun around again in an attempt to hurl the dog free.

There was a loud ripping sound as her left sleeve tore off. The dog finally came free, and it flew into the bushes not far from where the first dog had landed. It glared at her for a moment, but kept its distance, snarling all the while.

Steed disentangled the rope from the remaining dog. He must have succeeded in briefly depriving it of breath; it slunk away groggily to join the other two dogs.

Rita threw Steed's arm over her shoulder and forced him into a brisk jog down hedge-lined passages that lead away from the dogs' location. She had to rely on the memory of the pattern she had seen during her brief time on Steed's shoulders.

The dogs didn't give chase right away. Steed must have been right about them respecting aggressive resistance. Rita wondered how long it would be before they dared to make a second attack. Probably not long, she thought grimly.

The pack started following them at a distance of about fifteen feet. Rita wasn't sure what to do next.

It was then that Steed's body went limp next to her, sending her crashing to the ground.

-oOo-


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Miss Fox, " Steed said quietly. "I dreamed I was being tended by Florence Nightingale."

Rita tenderly stroked his forehead as he lay on his back in the grass. Steed noticed that she had cuts and bruises on both forearms.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"Only a minute or two. You seemed to revive when I tended your wound."

"What about the dogs?"

"I suspect they're trying to work up courage for another attack. We probably have only a minute or two before they make their second charge."

The sound of chuckling came to them from nearby, perhaps only two hedge walls away. It was the man they had seen approaching before the attack.

"So the dogs aren't injured?" Steed reiterated in a whisper, so as not to be overheard.

"I'm afraid not," Rita answered regretfully.

"Good."

"Good? I love dogs as much as the next person, but these are hardly family pets."

"They're an asset," Steed explained cryptically.

"Do you have a plan?" Rita asked, barely controlling the panic in her voice.

"Here's my plan. I want that guard's gun," Steed answered simply. "Once we have it, the dogs become an asset on our side, more dangerous to him than to us."

"Are you suggesting that we jump him? We barely have two good legs between us," Rita protested in a harsh whisper. "He'd shoot us dead where we stand, assuming we were capable of standing."

"I'm guessing he has orders not to shoot us, if it's avoidable. Penbrough wants our bodies to be found mauled by animals. Bullet holes would only spoil the illusion he's trying to create."

"Then what's the guard here for?"

"He's here to make sure we don't survive the dogs. Maybe break our necks while we're bitten and incapacitated. That would be consistent with our mauling deaths. Do we still have our rope?"

"It's keeping you from bleeding to death," Rita answered grimly, gesturing to his leg.

Steed shook his head. "It'll have to come off. We can use it to overpower the guard."

"I suppose I can manage a kick, if I remove my slip," Rita said uncertainly. "I could sneak up from behind."

"No need," Steed smiled, remembering her performance at Wootton Bassett. "Plenty of corners that we can ambush him from. We have the advantage of enough height between us to see the layout of the passages. This is a maze, remember?"

"Labyrinth," Rita added under her breath.

-oOo-

Rita sketched an imaginary diagram in the grass.

"I think that the guard's here," she declared. "Do you want to get an overhead view to be sure?" Rita wasn't sure she would obey Steed's order to mount his shoulders in his injured state.

"No point in alerting him that we're coming, as long as you think you can remember the passages correctly," Steed answered. "Let's just work on the assumption that your guess is correct, and we can adjust on-the-fly."

Rita thought to herself that the only "on-the-fly" adjustment likely to happen would be the guard adding bullet holes to their bodies.

"I can get to one end of the passage by doing a right, four lefts, and a right," she explained. "You should be able to get to the other end by going in this direction, taking a left, three rights, a left and a right. What do we do when we get there?"

Steed nodded. "Make sure that he sees you. Act as if you're frightened and panicking."

"Who would be acting?" Rita smirked.

"While he's looking at you, I'll sneak up from behind and use the rope. Don't let him take his attention off you. How long will it take us to traverse the passages and get into position?"

"Maybe thirty seconds." Rita looked down at his leg, thinking that she might need to up the estimate.

Steed sensed her thoughts. "Let's make it sixty seconds from the time we leave. Count carefully. When we reach sixty, show yourself." Steed wrapped the ends of the makeshift rope around his fists in preparation. "Ready?"

"Right now?" Rita asked nervously.

"No time like the present. We need to do this while I still have some blood left," Steed said calmly.

The allusion to his injury brought back her feelings of concern, and caused her to forget her immediate fears. She nodded to him with determination.

"Now," Steed said. He took off limping in the direction Rita had indicated.

"One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand," Rita began in a low voice. She took off down the other passage. She could hear the scrabbling of the mastiffs as they moved closer to the position she had just vacated.

Rita reached the corner of the passage. This was the one that she predicted would contain the guard. She wanted to venture a peek, to confirm her guess; but she was afraid of revealing her position before Steed was ready and ruining their plan. She continued to count silently, and when she reached sixty, she stepped boldly out from around the corner.

The guard was there. He was only about twenty feet distant, and Rita saw him raise the gun and point it at her midsection. She allowed her eyes to go wide with fear. It was not an act, since she had no reason to believe that the gunman wouldn't fire immediately.

He didn't fire, just as Steed had reasoned. An evil grin spread across the guard's face. Rita turned as if to run back the way she came; then pretended that she saw something even more evil and canine waiting that way. She glanced quickly back and forth between the gun, and the passage she had come from, as if in a panic about which way to go.

The guard moved toward her, probably hoping to herd her into the waiting mastiffs. It was at that moment she saw Steed coming up behind the gunman. A split second of relief showed on her face, just enough to make her panic act no longer convincing.

The guard hesitated in his advance. Steed was only a few feet away from his quarry. Unable to think of anything else, Rita started to unbutton her blouse, hoping that the guard would think she wanted to bargain for her life. The gunman's attention remained on her.

She had only reached the third button when Steed slipped the makeshift rope around the guard's neck.

The guard's face bulged as he steeled the muscles of his neck in resistance to Steed's strangling efforts. He looked as if he could hold his breath for quite a long time. Steed, on the other hand, was losing blood through the wound in his calf. Rita wasn't certain that Steed's strength would hold up against the guard's struggling.

She made a quick decision. Rita ran forward, hitching up her satin half-slip with both hands, and swung her left foot up between the guard's legs. Her instep made solid contact with the gunman's groin, and his remaining breath exploded through his lips in a grunt. Deprived of this last vestige of oxygen, the guard quickly lost consciousness, and Steed eased him to the ground, retrieving the gun that was now held by limp fingers.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Rita apologized, reddening. "I've been wanting to do that ever since these thugs started pushing me around." She hastily re-buttoned her blouse.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Steed remarked jauntily. He started searching the man's jacket pockets.

"A-ha! Here's some weapons for you, my dear." Steed extended his hand. In it were two cloisonne hair clips.

"I'll take those." She eagerly snatched them from Steed's hand.

Rita pinned up her hair. The two of them looked a fright: Steed shirtless, missing one pant leg, with blood still flowing from a wound on his calf; her in a white blouse minus one sleeve, and a gold half-slip spattered with Steed's blood. She walked over to Steed and tenderly took the makeshift rope from his hands, and knelt down to wrap it around a spot above his calf, just tight enough to staunch the flow. Steed checked the gun as she ministered to him.

"A full six rounds," he said brightly.

"Is it always this rough out in the field?" Rita asked casually, attempting to cover her fear. This brought a broad grin to Steed's mouth.

"Re-thinking your plans of working for the Ministry?"

"I'm not sure I'm prepared for life outside the library," she answered innocently.

Steed gestured at the prone form in the grass. "Judging from the contents of his pockets, he must have been the one who dumped us here."

"Are you going to leave him here for the dogs?" Rita asked.

"We're giving him the same chance he gave us," Steed said evenly. "He seems healthy enough, and must have some idea of the layout of the passages. He might be able to outrun them. Let's get going. The dogs could attack at any second."

"Which way?" Rita asked.

"The guard would have an entrance opposite the dogs, to herd us toward them if necessary. If we can trace his path back, we can get out of here, keeping him between us and the dogs."

"What if the dogs get past him?"

Steed rubbed his calf absently. "If they're as vicious as the one that latched onto me, they won't pass him up. And we have a gun now."

Steed turned away from Rita and knelt down, presenting his bare back. "Time for us to do our gopher act. Look for passages in the direction we're currently facing," he advised.

"Oh, Steed." Rita was filled with pity. "I know this has to hurt."

Steed managed a weak smile. "Don't talk about it. Do it. Quickly, lest I slip away."

Rita mounted his shoulders, and Steed raised himself to his feet, his left leg trembling under the strain. There were more than a dozen hedge walls between them and the exit near the manor house. She quickly committed the turns to memory.

She dismounted Steed and turned to face him.

"Follow me," she said resolutely. "It's only about two hundred yards."

They limped at best possible speed down the passages that Rita indicated. A minute later, they heard barking and snarling. The mastiffs had come upon the guard. Luckily for him, he had regained consciousness before the pack arrived. The sounds of his crashing, desperate flight carried to their ears across a mere two or three walls of hedges.

The guard let loose a cry of defiance in their direction.

"You'll never make it out of this maze alive!"

"Labyrinth," Rita added grimly.

-oOo-


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The exit to the labyrinth was only a few turns away. The three stories of the manor house loomed over them now. Rita panicked as the snarling and barking rose in volume.

"Steed! The dogs are here! You'll have to shoot!"

Steed shook his head and continued limping as quickly as he could. "We can't afford to use any bullets on the dogs. The dogs aren't armed. The men waiting for us at the manor will be. Keep moving as fast as you can."

Rita turned her head to see how quickly the pursuit was gaining. She was alarmed at what she saw. The guard that they had previously incapacitated was now running after them, less than thirty yards away, with the mastiffs nipping at his heels. Rita recalled that his last memory of her would not be a pleasant one; in fact, she was surprised he was able to move at all.

"Steed, I don't know what you expect to meet ahead of us, but it can't be any worse than what's behind!" she shouted.

They rounded the final turn.

Steed leaped out of the maze and tucked into a roll that brought him to a low cement wall. Without thinking, Rita duplicated Steed's maneuver; it must have been an instinct she retained from her brief training. A rapid volley of gunshots swept the rear patio of the manor house as she crawled over to Steed, panting. Steed rose briefly and fired two shots. This must have alarmed the gunmen stationed around the patio; they had not expected the maze escapees to be armed. The shooting stopped.

Steed took a second to adjust the rope tourniquet around his calf. He was in obvious pain. Rita peeked over the wall, and saw that the gunmen were now crawling across the patio, overlapping their movements so they could provide covering fire if needed. In two or three seconds the guard and mastiffs would emerge from the maze. She and Steed were going to be trapped, surrounded, and killed.

Luck was on their side. The guard dashed out of the maze, followed by the mastiffs. The dogs immediately attacked the gunmen on the patio who had been approaching Steed and Rita's position. The scene was chaos and confusion for a minute while the enemy waited for the dog handler to come and control the animals. When he finally arrived, he blew on a high-pitched tin whistle, and the dogs immediately obeyed.

During this time, Steed and Rita had crawled to the end of the low cement wall. A sprint of twenty yards separated them from the rear door of the manor.

"Head for that door," Steed directed her. "I'll use two shots for suppressing fire. The last two can cover us in case you have to pick the lock. Do you have your picks?"

Rita pulled off one of her cloisonne clips, and removed the metal lockpicks. "The fastest I've ever picked a lock is thirty seconds," she said balefully.

Steed gave her a wry grin. "I'm hoping that the threat of instant death will spur you to a new record." He readied the weapon, and nodded to her.

"Now!"

Rita sprinted for the door as Steed fired the first two shots. The return fire was concentrated on Steed's position. He waited five seconds until he saw Rita working the lock, then dashed over to join her. He fired another shot, then the final shot just as he heard the lock click. Rita threw the door open and rolled inside, with Steed just behind. They were in a kitchen, and it was deserted.

"The gun is empty," said Steed. "We need to find a weapon, fast."

They darted up a staircase and through some open double doors into a massive entry hall. Even Steed seemed surprised as they looked around the room.

The walls were covered with an impressive collection of historical weapons. There were lances, maces, and Oriental shuriken; there was even a scimitar, taken from some fallen Saracen, no doubt. A crossbow with several bolts was on the far wall. Steed started across the room for it, recognizing it as the weapon with the greatest range.

At nearly the same instant, Penbrough rushed into the room, brandishing a scimitar of his own. He must have been watching the whole battle from the upstairs window, just as Steed had predicted earlier. Steed couldn't make it to the crossbow now; Penbrough intercepted him, and he was forced to retreat towards the wall.

Rita remembered Steed's advice from Wootton Bassett, and she immediately ran to the opposite wall, in order to force Penbrough to face two separate targets.

"Looking for a weapon?" Penbrough gloated. "It won't matter. I can kill both of you, with any weapons you choose. You two have caused me great inconvenience. I would have rather you fallen at the jaws of my pets, but it will be even better for you to die by my own hand." He swung the scimitar in a swooping arc over his head. "It was I—I!—who killed your Mr. Blackpoole."

Penbrough turned to address Rita. "Did Steed ever show you the pictures of Blackpoole? Or tell you how he met his untimely demise?"

Both Steed and Rita were backing away slowly, trying to get within reach of the abundance of weapons which lined the walls. Neither spoke.

"He was decapitated." Penbrough's eyes were wild with insanity. "By this very weapon I'm holding."

"Then it is right that we should want vengeance," Steed said evenly.

Steed was still several feet away from any weapon. Penbrough lunged at him, then backed off again in a feint. He laughed maniacally.

Rita continued slowly backing towards the wall, never taking her eyes off the mad swordsman. He spun around to face her briefly, but then spun back to face Steed. She continued stepping backwards, groping with her hands, since she was reluctant to turn her head for even a second.

Suddenly, the back of Rita's thigh bumped into a writing desk. The front door of a storage compartment fell open with a thump, and Penbrough turned at the sound. The compartment contained a gun. Penbrough immediately charged at Rita, waving the scimitar over his head in a psychotic frenzy. Steed had no weapon, but he ran after Penbrough, perhaps hoping to tackle him before he decapitated the young literature research expert.

Rita grabbed the gun from the compartment and fumbled with it. Her next decision was immediate; she took the gun, her only weapon, and sent it skating across the floor on a line directly at her attacker, towards Steed some twenty feet away. The gun passed at high speed perilously close to Penbrough's feet as he bore down on her with the scimitar. Then it was past him, heading towards Steed, who was running to meet it, favoring his injured left leg.

In a single smooth motion, Steed scooped up the gun, chambered a round, flicked off the safety, and fired a shot at Penbrough's leg. Penbrough staggered and broke his stride at the exact moment he reached Rita. It was just enough to allow her to grab the wrist that held the deadly blade and stop him from swinging it down upon her. She executed a quick judo toss that caused the scimitar to fly from his grasp and sent him headlong into the desk. Penbrough slumped to the floor.

Steed came to a halt next to her. He bent down to make sure Penbrough was no longer a danger, nor in any danger of bleeding to death. The bullet had just grazed the outside of Penbrough's right thigh. He turned to face Rita.

"Miss Fox," Steed said in amazement. "You sent me the gun."

"I'd never seen that model before, didn't know how to work it," Rita confessed. "I figured it would be best if it were in your hands."

Steed simply nodded. "I'm not often surprised, Miss Fox. But today, you have surprised me."

Rita smiled brilliantly. "In a good way, I hope?"

"Yes," Steed agreed amiably. "In a good way."

-oOo-

There was a knock at the door. Steed limped across the floor of his apartment and opened up to see Rita standing there. She was dressed in a black-and-white plaid flannel skirt and brown leather calf boots, with a blue ribbon tied around the collar of a starched white blouse. Her red hair was held simply in place by the two cloisonne clips.

"I just wondered if you've heard anything more about our investigation," Rita began meekly, "as well as my job."

Steed smiled broadly as he motioned Rita into the apartment.

"The leak at Whitehall has been found and plugged," he announced.

"Why did he help Penbrough escape in the first place?"

"Our wringer claims that Penbrough's escape had only one purpose: to allow him to kill the two of us. The leak at the Ministry felt certain our investigation was leading back to him, and he knew that Penbrough had become psychotic in his desire for revenge," Steed explained. "The interrogation methods that were used may have contributed to that," he added.

"Penbrough did seem to have quite a superiority complex," Rita agreed.

"Fortunately for us, the internal investigation of the escape led back to the leak. Turns out it was someone in the higher echelon. They wouldn't even tell _me_ the name."

"So the Head of Operations isn't going to cashier me?" Rita asked hopefully.

"There's no way he can deny that our investigation led to the unraveling of the whole scheme. And since the enemy turned out to be home-grown, the Ministry wants to hush up the whole affair. Your job as literature research expert is safe, for the time being."

Rita put her arms around Steed's neck in a warm embrace, and they both winced at their fresh wounds. "Nothing against your work, Steed, but I look forward to getting out of the field and back into the library."

Steed smiled as he disengaged her arms. "So this brings to a close the entire Bookhounds affair."

Rita noticed an unfamiliar leather-bound volume on the coffee table. She picked it up.

"What's this?"

"Matthews' 1922 book on mazes and labyrinths. You know, technically, we _were_ in a maze," Steed explained. "A labyrinth has only a single path from the outside to the center, with no false branchings. You can get tired in a labyrinth, but never lost."

"I stand corrected."

"Please sit. Neither of us should be doing much standing for a couple of days."

Steed used a cane with an ornately carved gold head to propel himself over to the bar. He filled two glasses, and then limped back to sit on the couch. Rita curled up opposite him, her right leg dangling over the edge. Steed kept his bandaged left leg extended.

"We look like bookends." Steed offered Rita a tall glass of champagne.

"In case you want to continue your experiments with imbibing," he added innocently.

Rita smiled warmly, looked deep into his eyes, and took a generous swallow.

"We learn by doing," she remarked.

-oOo-


End file.
